


Personal Growth

by FlitShadowflame



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Come Inflation, Comeplay, Dorian is a Little Shit, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, Halward and homophobia, Knotting, Large Cock, M/M, Restraints, honestly this is porn with the barest thread of plot, inevitably: they bone, kinks everywhere, muscle fetish, old guys still doing it, underage Dorian/probably of age Hissrad, what if Dorian and Bull met pre-Inquisition?, xenocock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21578845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlitShadowflame/pseuds/FlitShadowflame
Summary: Dorian, through the years - and the spy who ruined him for other men.AKA:"If Halward expected his flamboyantly gay son to come away from an island filled with stoic, muscular men without a complex, he was deluding himself."
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 15
Kudos: 285





	Personal Growth

**Author's Note:**

> Huge shout out to [Elpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Horribibble/pseuds/Elpie) for beta-ing and handholding through the writing process. I wrote this to detox from NaNoWriMo original stuff and I'm actually pretty happy with it? Hope y'all enjoy.

The year is 9:10 Dragon and House Pavus breathes a sigh of relief. The Magister’s wife has at last given birth to a living boy, a healthy heir to carry their future forward.

* * *

The year is 9:24 Dragon and Dorian Pavus is a disgrace to everything his father has worked for. A stain on the family tree, too wretched to remain in Magister Pavus’ sight. He is sent to the Circle in Vyrantium.

* * *

The year is 9:27 Dragon and Dorian is even more of a disgrace, caught drinking himself stupid and getting pounded by male whores instead of just kissing boys in dark corners. Desperate for an excuse to get Dorian out of public eyesight and murmured rumors, Magister Pavus sends his not-yet-seventeen-year-old son to “fight Qunari” in Seheron. There’s a ceasefire right now, one that may last several months, and there are few better options to hide away a handsome young Altus who has recently graduated from his Circle with academic records as impressively god as his behavioral reports are impressively bad.

Dorian arrives on Seheron and despises the island immediately. It’s hot but unpleasantly wet in a way that makes him feel sweaty and sticky even moments after an attempt to bathe or freshen up. His clothes cling to his skin and his smalls ride up. To make matters worse, he is here in an embarrassingly low rank position more befitting a Laetan or Soporatus - as a pageboy to an Imperial Ambassador, and not even one of the important ones.

The magister is a disgusting old man who is too absorbed in his bodyslave to even  _ notice  _ Dorian. Never before has Dorian been so glad to be ignored by a man inclined to males: he can hear the slave screaming at night and it turns his stomach.

Besides, the peace talks include far more intriguing and handsome men: dashing young Magister Rilienus, who is less than ten years Dorian’s senior and very fit; a delectable Laetan among the other pageboys who has sent him more than one considering glance; the nearly black-skinned, part-Rivaini Altus speaking on his Magister father’s behalf; and that’s just the Tevene delegation…

Among the Qunari, there are broad, powerful men with very distracting horns. Dorian has always had a weakness for muscles, and Qunari are rather notorious for theirs.

By the third day, one of the ox-men catches him staring and gives him a surprisingly lascivious wink. Dorian does not blush, but only because his skin, sun-dark as it is, rarely shows any but the deepest embarrassment. He lingers after they break for the evening, fussing over the magister’s paperwork and debating the merits of a tavern visit.

Amazingly, he doesn’t notice almost eight feet of Qunari warrior doing some lingering of his own; not until the man calls out in a gravelly purr:

“Altus, right? Altus Pavus.”

Dorian looks up, eyes wide. “...Yes? And you are…a Hissrad, no?”

“That I am,” Hissrad smiles broadly, clearly pleased. “You got some kind of Qunari fetish, kid? You wouldn’t be the first.” He picks his way through the narrow aisles.

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “ _ Fetish _ ? No, I don’t believe so. A fetish is a habitual response or fixation; I don’t have a fixation on Qunari. However, it would not be inaccurate to say I have a  _ muscle  _ fetish.”

Hissrad chuckled. “Sharp enough to cut yourself, aren’t you? Keep staring at my chest like that, licking your lips and devouring me with your eyes, and a fella might get ideas.”

“What sort of ideas might those be?” is the nonchalant question that Dorian responds with.

“Mm, ideas about bending you over one of these tables and tonguefucking your hole until you beg for mercy.”

“I’m not very likely to beg for mercy,” Dorian says, smirking a little. “Demand more, perhaps.”

“Even better,” Hissrad purrs. He keeps moving closer, and Dorian’s breathing goes shallow as his heart pounds and Hissrad’s musky scent fills his nose. The Qunari seems even bigger once he’s looming over Dorian, who is likely to grow several more inches in the next few years, but as yet is scarcely five and a half feet tall.

“What’ll it be, Altus?” Hissrad prompts, offering one massive hand, palm-up. It’s big enough to wrap all the way around Dorian’s neck without any assistance, should he choose. Dorian swallows hard.

“Can you be...discreet, at least?” he asks, rather than answer just yet.

“I’m not gonna rat you out to the ambassadors, kid; that sounds like a great way to restart hostilities.”

“That’s - not what I meant, actually. I’ve simply met too many men who can’t keep their mouths shut after a good fuck, want to tell all their friends about the slut’s hot little mouth - ”

Hissrad gently presses a single finger to Dorian’s lips. “The Qun isn’t really a good place for braggarts. And sex may not be, hm,  _ intimate _ like it is for bas, but that doesn’t mean it’s a matter for public consumption. Whatever we do stays between us. Fair?”

Dorian kisses Hissrad’s finger before sucking it into his mouth, the insinuation plain as day.

“I do like when pretty people get all determined about what they want,” Hissrad says admiringly. “And you are one of the prettiest people I’ve ever met.”

Dorian smirks around the finger, letting it slide out with a wet pop. “I’d say we shouldn’t do this here, but I don’t think there’s anywhere on the island we’re less likely to be walked in on.”

“I want to see how much of my cock you can take, pretty boy.” Hissrad draws a large flask of oil from his pocket, and Dorian swallows back nerves again.

“I want to taste you first,” he says, and it’s true that he loves sucking cock best, but he also wants a chance to get mentally accustomed to Hissrad’s size, as it promises to be large indeed if he’s in proportion.

The utilitarian, ugly trousers out of the way - and Maker bless him, Hissrad wears no smalls - Dorian begins ardently worshipping what is inarguably the largest cock he’s ever seen in his life. Long, yes, but not abnormally so for a human of great height, Hissrad must be fully ten inches flaccid (which he is decidedly not, right now).

The bit more alien to Dorian is the obvious taper from middle to tip. The crown flares out a little, but not much more than the largest men Dorian has been with previously. A thick swelling, like a dog’s knot, interrupts the shaft’s relatively smooth transition from fat to thick. Everything before the knot seems…rougher, almost, not as slick as the top half.

Dorian wants every inch of it. His mouth can barely take more than the crown, but his hands cover the rest, exploring, teasing. He slips one down further still, and moans when he finds Hissrad’s sac is just as oversized as the rest of him.

The Qunari’s hips judder a bit, but his control is good enough that Dorian scarcely notices the little thrust, and it comes nowhere near gagging him.

“You are exquisite,” Hissrad purrs. “And I want that tight, gorgeous ass all around me, because I may only get this one chance to enjoy it. Also; you have no idea how much cum I produce, but I do. And it would be a shame to drown you that way.”

Dorian squeezes and rubs Hissrad’s balls before leaning back and pulling his mouth off. “I can guess,” he says with a breathless laugh. “And you’re probably right. Though I would  _ love  _ to hear someone try to explain that to my father, I’d also prefer not to die, even during sex.” He stands, brushes off the knees of his leggings, and rubs his jaw. “I am at your disposal, Ser Qunari - please be gentle,” he says, mock-innocent as he inclines his head in a show of deference.

“Koslun save me from pretty brats,” Hissrad snorts. He manipulates Dorian’s whole body easily, turning him, bending him over the nearest desk, and flipping up the long tunic to tear a hole in Dorian’s leggings.

Dorian hisses, “Desist in destroying my extremely limited wardrobe,” and Hissrad actually laughs at him - a booming, full-bellied thing that almost makes him forget his ire, it’s that disarming.

“I think you’ll find them much improved. Have the tear reinforced, wear long tunics, never worry about getting caught with your pants down again,” Hissrad taunts. “I want you to wear them again tomorrow. Want to do a half-dozen more filthy things to you each night.”

Dorian bites back a moan at the image of Hissrad pressing him to a wall, flipping up another tunic, and fingering him at once to fuck him all the sooner. He loses the battle against that moan when Hissrad actually  _ does  _ begin fingering him, brisk but thorough. Dorian’s legs drift further and further apart as he tries to accommodate the Qunari’s huge fingers, as Hissrad pumps a second, third,  _ fourth _ inside him. He loses all control of his mouth, letting out little whimpers and moans, entreaties verbal and otherwise, demands which Hissrad merely laughs at, invectives and oaths which are answered with stinging slaps to his thighs and buttocks. Just hard enough to hurt, not enough to mark or bruise or damage. Hissrad’s control continues to amaze Dorian.

“Please just let me come,” Dorian begs at last, and Hissrad makes a pleased noise before removing his fingers.

Dorian sobs at the sudden, overwhelming lack of touch, of sensation - and then the crown of Hissrad’s cock nudges his entrance, rubs his hole once or twice before Hissrad impatiently demands that Dorian “open.” His legs spread painfully wide, Dorian leans on the table for balance and uses both hands to spread his buttocks apart.

And at last, Hissrad breaches him, popping only the leaking crown past Dorian’s entrance before stopping again. He takes Dorian’s wrists in hand and pins them to Dorian’s back. The mage struggles briefly, alarmed, and Hissrad lets go at once.

“Not one for restraints?” the Qunari asks lightly, as though it hardly matters to him.

“Wh - oh. Um. N-no, it was good, just...surprised me.” The vulnerability was frightening, but positioned like this his palms are up,  _ toward  _ Hissrad, so magic will actually be easier to direct, if need be.

Still, Hissrad is gentler when he pins Dorian once more. He kisses Dorian’s shoulder-blade and murmurs that Dorian is “Perfect, just perfect, feel so good, such a good boy, just stay still, good.” And ever so minutely, he begins to sink in deeper. He stops whenever Dorian whines, and starts again - pulling out to do so from the beginning - when Dorian moans for more.

To Dorian, it’s tortuously exquisite. He has never, ever felt this -  _ caught  _ and pinned and helpless, but safe at the same time. Hissrad will not hurt him, only seems interested in giving Dorian pleasure beyond his wildest dreams.

It feels like he’s been filled to bursting, but Dorian knows Hissrad is less than halfway inside him. The thickness has increased, but he hasn’t felt the bulge of Hissrad’s knot.

“More,” he gasps out, eager and overconfident.

“This gorgeous little ass deserves to be treated better than that,” Hissrad protests, patting Dorian’s ass with his free hand. “You’ll get what I give you and no more,” he says more seriously, with a tight squeeze of Dorian’s trapped wrists.

And that, being  _ refused _ , has only ever frustrated and angered Dorian - until now. Now it stirs something new inside him, a kind of quiet peace that makes the ache in his ass, his balls, a little easier to bear. But he is too accustomed to getting his way; he squirms and whines and pleads, “Maker, Hissrad, give me more, please, it feels so good.”

“Trust me, little bas, the rest of it won’t.” But he does slip a tiny fraction further in, until Dorian can feel the knot brushing up against his entrance. “Are you ready?” Hissrad asks, kissing the nape of Dorian’s neck.

“Oh fuck yes, please, please, I  _ need  _ you to fuck me.”

“Need it, do you?” Hissrad chuckles. “You  _ need  _ my cock?”

“Please!” Dorian whimpers, twisting under Hissrad’s hand, which feels as heavy and implacable as a mountain.

“Alright, little bas. I’d hate for your needs not to be met.” His hips move slowly, and he pours more oil on his cock as he pulls back. It makes the first thrust into that half-depth smooth and easy, and Dorian cries out, his own hips jerking futilely as he nears completion.

Hissrad’s free hand seizes Dorian by the inside of his thigh and pulls his leg up until Dorian’s weight lies heavy on the table and his other leg struggles to keep him balanced and stable. The new position makes Hissrad’s thrusts feel like they sink even further in, and it draws heat unlike any he’s felt before into his stomach and groin. His thighs still flex in unconscious attempts to rut, but only air touches him - his center is too far from the table to use even that. Dorian keens; repeated, high-pitched cries as Hissrad pounds into him.

“What’s wrong, little bas?” Hissrad grunts.

“N-need to come, Hissrad, please,” Dorian begs shamelessly.

“You can come like this, or I will take care of you when I finish. But I like you right  _ here _ .”

Dorian has never even heard of a man coming like this, without at least a bed to rub on. But a moment later, orgasm rips through him harshly, nearly making him black out. Hissrad slows to a stop until Dorian groans, and the fucking continues. The Qunari is relentless. He drags three orgasms from Dorian, each leaving the mage weaker than the last, before his hips snap forward one last time and seed floods Dorian’s gut.

His whole body is trembling, and continues to do so even when Hissrad pulls away and releases his wrists. Dorian can’t even imagine moving his arms right now, so they gradually separate and then drop to the table nervelessly.

“Dorian?” Hissrad asks, concern obvious in his voice.

“Mm?” Dorian whimpers.

“Okay, up you get,” Hissrad chuckles. He hauls Dorian to his feet, manipulates him as though he weighs nothing, and wipes him down with a cloth. “Come on, Big Guy. You have to be able to walk yourself back to the Tevene delegation.”

“Nngh.  _ Fuck _ ,” Dorian sighs emphatically.

“That we did. Now time for ‘walk,’” Hissrad teases. He’s got a much better sense of humor than Dorian expected of any individual ox-man. Qunari as a whole seem grim and humorless most of the time, but perhaps that’s just how they present themselves to his own people.

Dorian does manage to walk back to the Tevinter embassy and crawl into bed. He pleads sickness the next day—he’s still that sore, and not at all certain he’ll be able to control himself in Hissrad’s presence.

He attends with the magister as usual, the day after, but a heated debate about fishing rights starts to include actual flames, and negotiations break early for the day so the room can be cleaned. No chance for Hissrad to make good on his suggestion about the leggings.

The Tevinter emissaries wake to alarms, fire, and fighting—it seems the war is back on. 

Noble non-combatants are the first people off the island. When Dorian sees how thunderous the magister is over leaving his bedslave behind, he bribes several guards to ensure his ride home is in a different boat. Angry magisters don’t always discriminate between “page” and “slave” when throwing magic around - and if the magister decides someone else will do for the nonce, Dorian doesn’t want to be the one dragged to bed.

The trip back to Qarinus is dull and unpleasant, and Halward Pavus is not exactly welcoming when Dorian returns to the estate. He packs away the memory of Hissrad and pretends, for a while, to be the son his father wants.

Only in the nights is he free to fantasize about a broad, muscular Qunari pressing him down and fucking him raw, such fantasises being assisted with increasingly large phalluses procured from various discreet shops.

* * *

The year is 9:41 Dragon when Dorian is introduced to a giant of a Qunari calling himself the Iron Bull. He drinks in the sight of the former Hissrad even as he frowns at the extensive damage the man has endured. The eyepatch stands out, but the mass of scars on his bare chest are nearly as obvious. It takes a wary handshake before Dorian detects the missing fingers, and to cover his surprise he asks,

“A Qunari? Sure you don’t want to sew my lips shut?”

Bull smirks. “I’d buy you dinner first, Altus Dorian Pavus. What dragged your ass out of Tevinter?”

“I did,” Dorian shrugs. “My father found a better motivator than sending me to Seheron. Suffice to say, I wasn’t eager to try it out.”

“Wait, you were in Seheron? You know Bull?” the Herald asks.

“I met Hissrad briefly, yes. I was part of a delegation sent to negotiate peace, or at least a ceasefire for as long as possible. That lasted about a week, in total,” he shrugs.

“If you include the last day of negotiations, when the magisters set the primary Sten’s beard on fire,” Bull adds dryly.

“I’m glad to see you again, Bull,” Dorian says with a secretive smile. “On the same side, too.”

They drink together, that night, first with the Chargers and then just the two of them, and Dorian has not had so much liquor that he can justify climbing into Bull’s lap and telling him he’d spoiled Dorian for any lover but a Qunari and should apologize immediately, with his cock.

But he  _ has  _ had enough liquor that the idea is gaining appeal, so he settles instead for letting his arm brush against Bull’s, double-checking the nearly empty tavern, and murmuring through a blush, “I missed your cock,” pouting the whole time.

“Did you, pretty boy? More than ten years now. You still miss it?”

“Mhm,” Dorian whines, and he really should be more embarrassed of his behavior, but, well. Thirteen, fourteen  _ years  _ he’s dreamed of it.

“Can you really miss all of something when you’ve only had half of it?” Bull teases.

“I intend to have all of it this time,” Dorian says, his eyes heated. His hand drops to Bull’s massive thigh and he strokes it breathlessly. “Even if it takes all night. I’ve had considerably more practice now.”

“I bet you have, pretty boy. You still look so damn young, Vashedan - how old were you really, when we met?”

“Mm - sixteen or seventeen, probably. Don’t tell me you’re going to have a fourteen-year-delayed-attack of conscience while I’m finally near enough to finish what we started.”

“Nah, you knew what you were doing. Just wondering what kind of magic keeps your skin this smooth and flawless,” he says, stroking Dorian’s cheek.

“Not living in a warzone helps,” Dorian shrugs. “Good genetics and taking care of one’s looks accounts for most of the rest. Are we going to waste more time talking, or is there a bed we can retire to?”

“Ehh, maybe? Did the boss give you quarters? The Chargers hole up with the regiment, and it’s tents for us until all the wounded, elderly, young, and noble get their spots. A lot of civilians sleep in the Chantry or the tavern, if they don’t have private quarters. Even Commander Cullen, Sister Leliana, and Seeker Pentaghast are living out of tents.”

Dorian grimaces. “A bed would be ideal for this endeavor, but I suppose it can’t be helped. This had better be a  _ warm  _ tent.” He follows Bull into the snowdrifts with only a few more complaints about the ghastly weather and appalling quality of life he’s found in the South, and Bull mostly finds them amusing. Past the gates, where the soldiers on watch squint suspiciously at Dorian, Bull slips an arm around the mage’s back to squeeze his rump.

Dorian smacks him indignantly, with a faint light of mischief in his eyes. “I will need to be considerably warmer before there’s any more of that,” he chastises.

Bull hauls him into the tent, which is big enough for Bull to roll around a bit, or sit up comfortably without piercing the canvas with his horns, the tent is actually quite cold at the moment, since no one’s been in for hours. But Bull has a nest of lovely bear furs thanks to all that tromping about in the Hinterlands, and Dorian looks good in one of them wrapped around his shoulders.  _ Really  _ good. Dorian also helpfully lights the three lanterns scattered around the tent floor with just a snap of his fingers.

Bull can’t be too sure who starts the kiss, but he has a lapful of mage soon enough, and Dorian ruts against the bulge of his trousers eagerly.

“I want it. Please, Bull, give me your cock. It’s been so long,” Dorian purrs in Bull’s ear, distracting Bull thoroughly enough that he misses the opening for a pun.

“Strip and wrap up however you like,” Bull tells Dorian after another long kiss. “I’m going to play with your gorgeous ass until you’re coming all over yourself.”

“You’d better fuck me at some point, Qunari - my patience is limited,” Dorian informs him even as he shucks his clothes and burrows into the furs.

“With pleasure - but not until you’re ready for it.”

Dorian squirms and fidgets anxiously while Bull repositions him onto his hands and knees. He expects fingers, so the tongue he gets instead makes him shriek. But as strange as it is, as  _ dirty  _ as it seems, it’s so hot and thick and perfect that he can’t help moaning.

Bull is thorough and skilled and has years of practice in pleasing smaller lovers with his mouth. It’s a simple thing, to bring Dorian to orgasm in this way. He only switches to his hand in the interest of time, and as a concession to Dorian’s repeatedly professed impatience.

“Oh yes, please, fuck me open,” Dorian begs at the first press of Bull’s finger to his hole, and Bull is happy to oblige him.

"You weren't kidding about practicing," Bull says with a smirk as Dorian yields to him sweetly. "Wonder how much I could fit?"

"You'd better fit it all," Dorian sniffs.

Bull covers Dorian with his body as he presses two more fingers in impatiently. "You want to know a secret about Qunari?" he asks in a low, husky voice.

"Wh-what?" Dorian curses the stammer in his response. Even after almost a decade and a half of separation, Hissrad has a way of making him weak in the knees.

"As we get older—through our prime, that is—our fertility improves. Bigger balls, larger loads, stronger-tasting semen... and bigger knots, too. I was hardly more than a stripling youth when we met. I'm going to wreck you for cock and you're going to love it. I'll fill you up with my come until you look pregnant, and my knot will tie us together for a good long time. Not many non-Qunaris brave enough to even consider it, so I haven't popped my cork properly since the last time I visited a tamassran - that was a solid six years ago."

Dorian moans at the implication, and Bull presses in another finger, or the remnant of one anyway.

"I can't wait to fuck you with every inch of my cock," Bull says admiringly, stroking Dorian's thigh under the furs. "Look at you taking my fingers so well. I'd fist you if you were just a bit bigger, or I was a little smaller. Wanna see you take a fist sometime, bet you'd look rapturous like that. Think you're ready for the head of my cock?"

"Yes, Hissrad, Bull, please!" Dorian begs, unsure which name to call.

"Alright, Big Guy. Relax for me, and spread those legs."

Dorian hunkers down, knees splayed apart on the bedroll.

"You beautiful thing," Bull sighs, thumbing Dorian's hole with one hand as he removes the other. "Can't wait to fill you up."

"Do it, please!"

Bull rubs the tip of his cock against Dorian's ass before feeding it into his hole. Just as he had their first time, Bull stops once the tip crowns inside Dorian.

"Don't make me beg for every inch," Dorian says desperately.

"Why not? You have somewhere to be?"

"I'd like to be able to leave this tent with some of my dignity still intact," Dorian laughs breathlessly.

"So I shouldn't make you squeal for it?" Bull asks. "I dunno, sounds awfully tempting."

"Discretion will make sneaking off for your cock rather easier," Dorian points out.

"Already planning on more?"

"I don't see any reason to stop something that's mutually pleasurable to both of us, do you?"

Bull starts to press more of his cock into Dorian. "You're a real size queen aren't you, Big Guy?"

"I resemble that remark," Dorian says, hiding his grin in the warm bear furs even as he pushes back against Bull's invading prick.

Bull slaps his ass, less gently this time than he had when Dorian was a teen. "My pace, Big Guy - my cock, my rules. You can say no and you can tell me to slow down, but you don't get me to speed up until I know you're truly ready for it."

Dorian licks his suddenly dry lips. "You'd better be ready to hold me down, then, Hissrad," he breathes.

All at once, Bull moves: jerking his cock roughly out of Dorian and flipping him onto his back, hitching his legs up around Bull's hips, and driving his cock back in even as he slams Dorian's arms to the ground, pinning them above his head.

"Like this, bas?" he asks, lips twitching into a smirk. "You really do have a muscle fetish, don't you?" he observed when Dorian can't form a response immediately because all his blood is rushing to his cock.

"Like you don't enjoy pinning me down?" Dorian snarks back, looking lazily into Bull's remaining eye. "Now get to fucking me."

"Impatient little brat," Bull laughs, driving his cock deeper. Incredibly, Dorian can't yet feel the knot. This is still the top half of his cock, the tapered end, and Dorian feels deliciously full already.

"I swear it's longer," he gasps out as finally,  _ finally _ , he feels the knot brushing his hole, the skin there extra slick already with Bull's chosen oil.

"Less than an inch longer, but yes," Bull teases. "I told you we got bigger. Good memory, though."

"You have no idea what that memory saw me through," Dorian admits. "I've analyzed and re-lived every second of it a hundred times."

Bull ducks down to kiss Dorian sweetly. "I'm glad it helped. I wish I'd been able to give you more back then."

"You gave me something to hold onto. I could never regret that."

"You want my knot, Big Guy?" Bull asks, using his free hand to stroke Dorian's neck.

"Badly," Dorian sighs, leaning into the touch. "Please?"

"Gotta finger you open some more," Bull says, reaching down for the oil. His slick forefinger presses against Dorian's stretched rim and though Dorian whines in complaint, the strained muscle permits him entry. The second finger is both easier and not - Dorian is desperately trying every trick he knows to ease the way, and the renewed oil helps, but every fraction of an inch his hole widens feels like a momentous struggle. He can't imagine how awkward the position must be for Bull, one hand working its way into Dorian's core alongside his cock, one hand pinning Dorian's wrists high above his head, and his mouth - oh Maker, his mouth, it feels like a brand on Dorian's neck and he's sure to leave a mark that Dorian doesn't wish to explain.

"No visible marks," Dorian gasps out. "Please, Bull?"

"If that's what you want, Big Guy," Bull agrees, licking Dorian's neck one last time before moving to suck at his nipple instead.

"Oh  _ fuck!" _ Dorian moans as he feels the beginning of the burning stretch of a third finger. He comes harder than he expected, and there's something oddly soothing about the knowledge that Bull isn't going to stop unless he's asked.

"Alright?" Bull checks in, and that warms Dorian, too, though not as much as the third finger slipping into his ass.

"Give me your knot, please!" Dorian begged, his eyes tearing up from the strain.

"In a minute, baby," Bull promises. He removes his hand and wipes it off on his trousers before gripping Dorian's hip and pulling him further down Bull's cock, until his knot stretches Dorian open even wider, wider, wider when it catches with an audible sucking noise. Dorian gasps, hands clenching and loosening thoughtlessly. "Look at you," Bull purrs. "All knotted and helpless, my sweet little bitch."

Dorian's cheeks redden but his protest dies in an ecstatic whine when Bull rocks into him a little deeper. The veined, ridged base of Bull's cock is less sensitive, Dorian knows from years of research and more than a few intimate encounters with other Qunari men, but it feels like absolute heaven in Dorian's passage, rough and perfect against his clenching hole.

"Good boy," Bull grunts. "Fuck, I was sure I'd need you to come three or four times before I could get this far."

"Told you," Dorian gasps. "Practice."

"What  _ have  _ you been shoving up your ass, Big Guy?" Bull asks, squeezing one cheek of that ass almost reverently.

"I'm not telling you that," Dorian sniffs. "There's too many things - and people - to name."

Bull kisses him again, harder this time, hips jerking up into Dorian until he can feel the tops of Bull's thighs resting against his buttocks.

"Little minx," Bull says. "I can fuck you with the whole thing, just the last half, or just the first half, but I want my knot inside you when I come," he says. "That's easiest if I just use the last half."

"Do that," Dorian says faintly, "and I might yet come again."

"You're pretty good for the ego, Dorian Pavus," Bull grins. "I can't wait to fill you with my come."

"Then hurry up and fuck me," Dorian growls.

"Of course, Big Guy." Bull nips at Dorian's tit and pumps his hips, slowly at first so Dorian can grow accustomed to the sensation, then faster and faster as he seeks his own completion. The mass of Bull's knot pummels into Dorian, brutalizing his prostate in the most delicious way and plowing him open even wider. "Fuck, so good," Bull hisses, dragging to a stop as his knot swells even larger, pressing at just the right place to make Dorian come hard and fast. The squeeze of his passage edges Bull into his own orgasm and thick ropes of come pour into Dorian's lower abdomen.

Dorian fully expects it to take a while.

He doesn’t expect to still be tied and for Bull to still be spilling into him a candlemark later, nor does he expect the awkward fullness increasing until he feels beyond uncomfortable, well into distressed.

Bull has left off pinning his wrists to stroke his hair instead, murmuring nonsense - or possibly Qunlat - as he does. His other hand rubs gently on Dorian’s belly, easing the aches a little. “Almost done,” Bull says with a shiver, his hips jerking involuntarily. Dorian is caught off-guard as the enormous knot slams into his prostate again and he comes weakly for a fourth time. Bull nuzzles his neck and sighs with pleasure, and the streams of hot come taper off into a trickle he can scarcely feel, and then nothing.

“So  _ much _ ,” Dorian gasps, barely able to breathe with his stomach so swollen.

“I did warn you,” Bull says smugly, but there’s a note of uncertainty there as well. He starts to withdraw and Dorian grabs his hip on reflex.

“N-not yet,” he sighs. Bull strokes his sides and then his full belly.

“Okay,” Bull says several minutes later. “You ready?”

“Hnnngh. Alright. Just… go slow.”

“Of course,” Bull says, drawing his cock out slowly, reveling in the gush of seed that trickled down Dorian’s thighs as he did so. “You look wrecked,” he adds admiringly. “Beautiful boy.”

Dorian can feel his face heat but he hardly cares. “I can hardly believe you’re here,” he admits. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Bull kissed his neck. “I can barely believe this just happened,” he huffs a laugh. “I have never met a human who could take every inch of me, you’re a fucking miracle.  _ How  _ did you do that?”

Dorian rolls onto a cleaner bear hide and shivers in his sweat. Bull rubs him down briskly and covers him up with another hide before cleaning up the puddle of his and Dorian’s intermixed come. “I told you: practice. Bigger and bigger men, Qunari, fake cocks when I couldn’t get either. Not a single one of them was as big as you, but I got closest with the fakes. Only the other Qunari were anywhere near as considerate and patient, probably because they’re used to humans not being able to do it.”

“I hope you realize I’m going to need to fill you up again on the regular,” Bull purrs. “A little gem like you deserves to be taken care of.”

Dorian chuckles. “I’m hardly little these days.” He brushes past six feet with the help of his hair and thick boots.

Bull hums, slipping under the furs to wrap around Dorian and pin him down again, one powerful leg pressing against Dorian’s groin. “Only by comparison,” he allows. “But I like it, and I think you do, too.”

“I’ve not had many lovers who can manhandle me like you do,” Dorian agrees. “Who I’ll allow to do so, anyway.” He strokes Bull’s pectorals, following the scars, enjoying the contrasting texture.

Bull growls low in his chest. “Careful, pretty boy. You’re going to get wrecked if you keep teasing me.”

“Anything but that,” Dorian says mockingly, but he’s so wrung out it comes out breathless.

Bull nibbles Dorian’s ear until the mage is writhing in need and trying to hump Bull’s thigh. “Sure you want more, Big Guy?” he murmurs, licking the shell of Dorian’s ear.

“Yes!” Dorian says, not ready to beg again. “Yes, Bull, give me everything.”

“Everything?”

Dorian moans and tries to climb Bull’s leg.

“How are you getting hard again? I thought four was a limit for most human males.”

Dorian chuckles. “You’ve clearly never fucked any mage but me. I learned this clever little spell at eighteen or nineteen; a minor healing that improves blood flow, fertility, energy levels…”

“Saarebas,” Bull says in an admiring tone of voice. “Always full of surprises.”

“I do like to keep you on your toes. What are you going to do with me, the Iron Bull? I’m apparently at your mercy.”

“I want you to come just like this, held down, only barely able to grind on me, sweaty and messy and perfect,” Bull smiles. “Can you do that for me?”

“Can I, ah, have a little assistance?” Dorian asks sheepishly, already crossing his wrists over his head. “This will be easier with a few of your fingers in me.”

Bull traps him in place with a savage grin and licks his throat. “Beautiful boy,” he says reverently. “I can do that for you anytime you like.” He dips his fingers into a jar of salve and presses two into Dorian at once, making the mage whimper. “Tell me all the things you imagined about me while we were separated,” he invites.

Dorian swallows. “I - at first it was just what we’d already done, but... more. More positions, more orgasms, more rough and messy first times. Then you made good on some of your promises - using your, ah, your tongue on me…” he ruts against Bull’s thigh experimentally, catching a glimpse of the heat in Bull’s eye as he does so. “ _ In  _ me. It’s thicker than I imagined, and stronger than I expected, too. I started using, um, dildos and stuff not long after, trying to find one the right size, with a good texture. Leather-wrapped wood is my favorite type so far. I thought about trying to find you. But there were half-a-dozen Hissrads at the negotiations; there must have been hundreds or more in Par Vollen, and that’s assuming I could ever get that close to the Qunandar.

“Logic didn’t stop the fantasies, though. Captured by Tal Vashoth pirates to be used as a cockwarmer, only to be rescued by a dashing Qunari who wanted me all for himself… I had so many fantasies of you, I’d be here for days if I tried to share them all. My favorite was the one where we end up in Rivain serendipitously, and fall into bed again. A proper bed, this time. You were on assignment and I was researching seers and together we made one hell of an odd couple but it worked out well. That, or the peace treaty where we end up getting married,” he laughs self-deprecatingly, hips gyrating in place.

“It was a few more years before I figured out what marriage meant - or rather, didn’t mean - to Qunari, so I hope you won’t begrudge me the notion. I wanted you in every way you would have me, and I wanted to dream of you having me in all the impossible ways, too. Finding out you had a twin brother and taking one of you in each end. Getting turned into a Qunari myself, horns and all I mean, or being raised as a tamassran, or anything where I got to be closer to you for longer. I can’t remember all the fantasies.”

“That’s alright. We’re with the Inquisition for the long haul, the Chargers and I. We’ll have time to build you some new fantasies and even to act on them, assuming you can stick around after your Magister Alexius is dealt with.”

"If I hadn't been planning on it before, I certainly am now," Dorian grins. He arches his spine to rut harder into Bull's muscular leg.

"Good. Can you come for me, Big Guy?" Bull asks, pressing down on Dorian's cock.

"Nn! K-keep doing that," he gasps, jerking higher. He lasts for a few more thrusts before coming with a groan of pleasure. " _ Fuck _ , Bull - what else can you do besides make dry humping erotic?"

"I'd argue that was far from  _ dry  _ humping," Bull laughs, rubbing the smear of fluids on his thigh against Dorian's bare cock.

"Fair point," Dorian snorts. "I would like to clean up a little. Loath as I am to cut this short, unless your tent has a secret bathing facility I've somehow missed..."

"'fraid not," Bull chuckles. "I've got a... completely frozen bucket of water?"

"So, ice."

"Basically."

Dorian sniffs. "Is the bucket metal?"

Bull reaches over, takes the handle, and deposits the bucket next to Dorian.

"I can work with this," Dorian nods. He scratches a rune into the ice with his knife. The glyph burns with heat and the ice melts in scarcely a minute.

"That is damn useful," Bull says admiringly. "Don't suppose you've ever considered becoming a mercenary?"

Dorian laughs.

* * *

The year is 9:52 Dragon, and Dorian is in a great deal of trouble. Becoming a Magister had been a hard choice, but he believed it necessary to redeem his homeland. He doubts that decision more now than he has in years, because of all the useless bloody cults he’s quashed, of course it’s the Venatori who come back entirely too aware of his weaknesses. They use one of their pet Red Templars to smite him hard, and throw away a half-dozen soldiers to physically disarm him and knock him out.

He can’t imagine why they want him alive, when he’s done so much to ensure their kind never enjoys the limelight as long as he yet lives.

They torture him, of course, but he’s a Magister who’s been around Thedas more than once, and dealt with privations these simpletons could never compete with. They’re not even creative: they deprive him of food, give him a scant amount of water, and keep him awake and in pain most of the time. Don’t they know torture is more effective when the victim has the opportunity to recover from their suffering?

Apparently not.

All the same, it is a bit embarrassing to be rescued by one’s paramour in such a state. Bull and the Chargers massacre the Venatori and Bull personally carries Dorian from the rubble of the cult’s hideout. Dorian sleeps for what feels like a week, only briefly regaining consciousness now and then to eat, drink, and relieve himself. Every time he opens his eyes, Bull is there. He begs his amatus to hold him and doesn’t for a second regret that. It eases them both, the constant contact, and it allows Bull to focus on his men as well as Dorian.

The worst thing about captivity’s bindings and being bedridden for his initial recovery: he is incredibly weak in body, and Stitches isn’t sure he’ll ever fully recover the use of his left leg. Bull remains with him for over a month at their villa, helping Dorian recover, and Dorian is less practiced than he used to be at denying himself, refusing temptation.

When Bull asks him to stay, to retire from politics, Dorian doesn’t reject the notion outright as he has all the previous times. He strikes a bargain instead.

“I’ll start pulling away,” he says. “The Lucerni are more powerful than ever. I’ve been training my apprentices to take over eventually, I’ll just move up the timetable."

Bull's eye widens. "What, really?"

"I want to spend the rest of my days with you, the Iron Bull. I've done what I can for Tevinter. I’ve two seats to give and no heirs to take them, so my two Laetan apprentices will suffice. It’s past time to give the next generation a chance to have their voices heard. They’re good girls, my apprentices. They even listen on occasion.”

“I can give command to Krem. He already handles most of the day-to-day work,” Bull offers.

“Amatus, just because I’m retiring doesn’t mean you need to. And it won’t be tomorrow or likely even next year. There’s still a lot of work to be done to pass over the reins gracefully.”

“We’ll play it by ear, then,” Bull nods. “Oh kadan, I’m so proud of you.” He scoops Dorian up in a spine-cracking hug. “You gave so much to your country and your people,” he says. “And you’ve made Tevinter a better place. Whether you retire tomorrow or five years from now you’ll have done a damn sight better than most Magisters could ever dream.”

Dorian lets his head rest on Bull’s chest. “We’ll get through this.”


End file.
